


Hang On To Yourself

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Dash o'slash, Ficlet Set, M/M, Recovery, Sam Whump, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Sam hadn't expected trouble, but he gets that and so much more.





	Hang On To Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> What started as a simple prompt ficlet (*waves to Sky*) mutated into another one of my experiments, this one an attempt to write a series of linked fixed length ficlets to form one cohesive whole. Not betaed, but read over by trusted friends. Here we go. *dives in*

Sam hadn't expected trouble. Craig Parker was an old mate of Gene's who, if Gene's endless praise of him said anything, had the sun rise out his arse every morning, before setting again at night. He was a snout above all others, gave the sort of reliable information that Gene could always, always trust and would never, ever, _ever_ betray him, or kick ten types of shit out of his DI.

That last bit was a definite lie.

Sam's vision wobbled and he bent to the side, spitting out blood. His lip was split open and one of his eyes was close to swollen shut, and if Parker thought beating the hell out of him while holding him hostage was a good idea, then… well, Gene was going to think differently. Gene liked Sam, he did. Sam wasn't just making that up. Gene wouldn't like it that Parker was being such an utter bastard to his DI. That was Gene's job.

_Gene._

Sam leant to the other side, shoulder to the wall, letting his eyes slip shut as he exhaled a ragged breath. Three days. What should have been a simple expedition to gather information from one of Gene's snouts had turned infinitely more complicated when Sam ended up abducted, stuck away in a small dark room, and beaten quite soundly. He was bruised all over and some of his bruises were sporting bruises of their own. Across from where he sat, bound hand and foot, Parker's cricket bat leant against the wall. It was spotted with dark, dry patches of crusty red-brown, Sam's own blood.

Oh hell.

He'd liked to have slept but he hurt too much, and passing out from pain didn't sound like any fun, and the pain was starting to drive him mad. Three days. Shouldn't be long now. Either Gene would cough up the ransom – it was quite a funny thought really, because why should Gene even be inclined to negotiate with Sam's abductor? They were partners, sure, they worked on the same team, but sometimes Sam got the feeling that Gene didn't exactly like him.

Sam squinted into the gloom. No, no – Gene did like him. Gene liked him a lot. Gene liked him so much that sometimes after they spent an evening at the pub and stumbled home to Sam's flat (metaphorically – they probably had driven, and no matter how long Sam would stay here, he'd never think of that hell-hole as _home_ ), they'd talk and drink some more, and kiss – 

Gene wouldn't kiss him if he didn't like him, right?

Oh, wait – were the kisses actually real? Or did Sam just wish that there were kisses, oh god Gene, please – 

Three _days_. There was a busted clock hanging on the wall so Sam had no actual idea how much time had passed by, but three days seemed about right. Felt it. God, he hurt all over. He wanted a drink, a nap. He hadn't had a cigarette since June of 2004, but he could really do with one right now.

He really wish he could stop feeling it all for a while.

That made him think of something Nelson had said, once, only he replayed it in Gene's voice. And it was wrong, all wrong, because it wasn't that when it hurt so much you couldn't breathe, that's when you know you're still alive. Something about feeling it, or not – 

Something tickled his throat, maybe it was blood trickling back and he was starting to choke on it, coughing and coughing. Sam bent forward and closes his eyes, clenched his jaw and tried not to cough because it hurt and it was getting in the way of his breathing, he needed to be able to breathe. Various voices were buzzing about near him and he slapped at the nearest one with his bound hands, was less than kind as he told it to piss off. Parker was such an absolute wanker and Gene was going to kill him for this – 

Gene did like him, see, Sam was right about that – 

Only, then there was a hand on his arm, another on his face, and that gave him a moment of pause. He blinked and lifted his head up, and could _see_. Gene's worry-stricken face was swimming in front of him, eyes wide, lips parted.

Oh… a different delusion, that.

''ello, Guv,' he said with a little cough. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth, found that he could move it separate of the other, only it was slow, slower yet. He leaned forward again as he began coughing, but this time, there was someone to hold him up as spasms racked his body.

If Gene said anything about the blood splattered all over the shoulder of his jacket, Sam didn't hear.

–  
–

'But I'm thankful,' Sam mumbles, to Gene's great surprise. He'd been so still, so silent, that Gene was sure he'd been asleep.

Had looked a fair bit calmer, too, wasn't shifting about restlessly, driven by pain. The bruises seemed paler, the swollen eye was healing quite nicely. Wasn't coughing up a literal tonne of blood, so Gene couldn't ask for more.

Gene shifts about in his chair, picks up the little paper cup he'd filled with whisky, drinks it down in one go. 'Oh?'

'Yeah.' Sam cringes as he's attacked by another fit of coughs. The doctors had said he was lucky, that he should have been dead. How he shouldn't have been able to survive that amount of abuse, that much blood pooling in his lungs. Gene had to tell them they'd never before met a more obstinate pain in the arse than Sam-bloody-Tyler. His favourite pain in the arse, even.

There was so much he wanted to _tell Sam_ , to _do_. The world couldn't take him, not like _this_ – 

'Tissue? Or maybe some water?' Feigning nonchalance is one of Gene's greatest strengths, but as Sam wipes a hand across his mouth, flecks of red appearing, Gene barely suppresses a grimace. Even his insurmountable self has limits. Like when he'd found Sam in the first place, blood streaking his chin and him rambling like a madman. Didn't know up from down – didn't know _Gene_. Thought it was Parker come to do him more harm, and Gene – 

Finding Sam was what had kept Gene going. And to think he could have still lost him – 

Sam crinkles his brow in thought. 'Tissue.'

Gene nods, watches as Sam breathes – in-and-out, in-and-out, coughing some more, though this time into the crumple of white cloth that Gene had passed to him. Only a bit of blood left on it, he's doing so much better, but it's still too _much_.

'That's what you get for letting Parker get one over you and beat the shit out of you, Sammy-boy. Two words – you've no sense of self preservation.'

Gene crumples the paper cup in his hand, chucks it in the bin. Parker – the absolute bastard, he'd fallen on hard times. Might've asked Gene for a loan instead of abducting his DI and taking him hostage, only he'd always been thick. Gene wasn't big on negotiating, but he'd played along with Parker's game, had trusted him to keep his side of the bargain. Him and Parker, they'd known each other since before Gene did his time in NS, he'd always been a little screwy. After they came back from blood and death and battle, Parker'd never been the same. Gene had always thought him a good man.

Just how bloody long had Parker harboured that sort of resentment against him, and risk everything? Resentment – that was the only thing it could've been. Gene was the lucky one – got married (got divorced), got the good job (a bloody thankless one, that), Parker had nothing and he was getting by on less. The money was no problem – Gene'd stashed away plenty when he was taking backhanders. Getting Sam back was the single most important part of the equation.

But Parker had fucked it all up.

Three weeks went by, Gene making arrangements. Parker changed them as he saw fit. Only a lucky break had led them to where Parker was hiding Sam. Whom Parker had beaten bloody, though Gene had returned the favour pre-maturely, when they finally had Parker in custody.

This time, Sam laughs through the pain. 'That's six words, Guv.'

Gene grunts. 'Glad you still know how to count.'

Sam is and always has been direct. Excess pain does tend to turn him into even more of a little shit, and he's in plenty. If Sam did lash out at him, it's what Gene's due – he should have got to Parker sooner, found Sam before he'd been beaten mostly to death.

'Tyler,' he says, because he's at a loss for anything more.

'But it's alright,' Sam grits his teeth as he shifts about. There's some aching part of him twinges or twangs even though he's doped to the gills. One of his pretty nurses ought to be around again soon, to give him a fresh dose, but Gene wishes he could be the one to take away the pain. Somehow, he'll make this right.

'I'm not… actually complaining.'

Gene huffs. 'How unlike you.'

'But I'm still alive,' Sam murmurs, settling back, eyes shutting. There's a little frown on his lips, like he isn't quite sure of what he's trying to say. 'I'm still alive.'

'Only you'd make that sound like it was a bad thing,' Gene says, after sitting quietly longer than he'd expected himself to. But by that time, Sam's already gone and fallen back asleep.

–  
–

Plods caught sight of Parker all the way out in bloody Wigan. He was walking alongside the water with a brown paper bag of takeaway in one hand, the newspaper in the other, and a smug little grin on his lips. That same newspaper had his face plastered across the front page, along with a drab little photograph of Sam three pages in, captioned _The Missing Inspector_ ; a few pertinent paragraphs, who to talk to and how not to engage the bastard if he was spotted, and how any information would very much be appreciated.

It wasn't even a very flattering picture of Sam, but they – Cartwright, really, Gene himself had set her to the task – hadn't been able to find a very good one of him and his smile.

And there Parker had been, strutting himself alongside the river while constabularies across the north of the country were on the alert for signs of either him or his vict-- _Sam_.

It was close to dark when Gene got the call that Parker was in custody, so he put the pedal to the metal and was at Wigan in record time. Cartwright had followed him to the Cortina, and they drove along in silence, him driving at breakneck speed. All the while, Annie'd stared out the window, pensive as a cloudy day. She'd not once made a peep.

Parker sat in the grungy interrogation room, both of his hands cuffed to the chair. He looked up as Gene strode in, smiled broadly. He had a mouthful of bad teeth – the first had been broken in a fight back way back when they were teens, never had it dealt with. Sure, he's always been rough and tumble, but he'd never been _bad_.

'Oi, Gene,' he said, like it was any other day, and he wasn't the bastard who'd kidnapped Gene's DI. 'It's been ages, it has.' Like it wasn't just three days since they'd last spoken on the phone, because all Gene had been capable of so far was playing along with Parker's sodding games.

He threw his gloves down on the table. Overhead, the single dim light swung on its cord.

'Where's Sam?'

'Sam who?'

Gene punched him in the face, and he'd rocked back in his chair. Came crashing back forwards, spitting out blood and teeth as he laughed. And he'd laughed some more, as Gene cracked his knuckles and got ready to punch him again.

'Don't know any Sam,' he laughed.

 _Thwack_.

Gene asked him, again, this time extra politely – ha – just where he was keeping Sam. 

Parker spit blood at him as he laughed some more, and Gene hit him again. _Again_. Until his head was flopping about like a rag doll, and there was red dripping down his face from his busted nose and mouth.

'You won't find him in time, Genie,' he said, slurring as he smirked through the all the blood. 'Unless you let me go, he's going to wind up dead.'

'Alright then,' Gene snapped back at him, cracked his knuckles. Parker was beaming, looked ready for his next go round. The local DCI stepped in to keep Gene from breaking Parker's face in half, though it was just as well – it wasn't Gene's jurisdiction, and he needed to know where they stood. So, after adjourning into the hall beyond the interrogation room, Parker's smug arse safe behind a locked door, Gene wiped the blood from his hands. He could kill for a fag.

'He declined advocation.'

'Wonderful. What else have we got?'

'Been questioning the locals. All they're saying is that he's a quiet sort, has a place not far from the river.'

'So we know where he stays.'

'Been searched already – no sign of your officer.'

'There's got to be something – yes, Cartwright, what is it?'

She smiled deferentially at the other DCI, then gave her Guv a quick nod. 'There's an Indian place close to where he lives, they know him well. Say he's in and out of there all the time. But look at this – one of the lads who runs deliveries, he says we've the wrong address. He gave me this.'

He took the slip of paper from her hand, and when he turned to leave she followed along quickly, hot on his heels. DCI James got the right idea as Gene shoved open the door that would lead him to the lift – he sped along after them, shouting orders for a few of his officers to follow.

Fifteen minutes later, after three endlessly long weeks, the missing had finally been found.

As James shouted into his radio for an ambulance, Annie covered her mouth in shock. Gene knelt, put a hand on Sam's arm, another to his bruised and bloodied face.

And the world did not stop.

–  
–

'You've been doing well.'

'I guess so.' It's not like Gene hadn't been there already, keeping an eye on Sam as he recovered. Long lonely days would be interrupted by Gene popping round with lunch, or Gene coming in after work instead of going to the pub for darts and drinks, or Gene – 

Annie did visit, too. She'd taken over Sam's shopping responsibilities and probably didn't appreciate how picky he was about his fruits and veg. She'd stay late and they'd talk about everything. See, it's not that his world revolved around Gene.

Only –

When he'd been dying in the dark, he hadn't been thinking about Annie.

'But you should know.' With a barely concealed grimace, Sam clutches at the handle of the frying pan to keep his hand from shaking. Parker haunts him even though he's been put away for good – the scars, the nightmares, his hand that won't stop _shaking_.

Gene leans with his back to the worktop. There's a glass of whisky in one hand, a smoking cigarette in the other. He glances downwards, then up at Sam's face. Takes a wild leap, and gets it all right.

'So what are we making?'

'We?'

Sam steps sideways as Gene imposes himself into Sam's space. 'Spaghetti bolognese. Nice and easy.'

'Right. Well you should have made it simpler. How about a nice, light soup?'

Sam huffs on a laugh, a little bitter, a little sweet. 'I'd rather not toss this into the bin.'

'Well isn't that wonderful – alright then, tell me what to do.'

Sam does. Gene takes remarkably well to being ordered about, stating that while Sam's flat is a greasy little shit-hole, he does still know his way around the kitchen. Gene doesn't want to come up short.

Sam, to make it as easy as possible, keeps out of Gene's way. Is amused more than frustrated when he doesn't get something wrong. Finds the whole process to be charmingly bizarre. Maybe he could say the same thing about Gene.

When his hand starts shaking, he presses it to his thigh, clutches at his wrist with his opposite hand. Gene quirks an eyebrow, glances down. 'What's the doc got to say about that?'

Sam clutches harder, shuts his eyes. None of this had been expected. Giving the fractured ribs, he'd expected far more trouble with his lungs. 'Nothing much. They're not sure what's causing the tremors, beyond it being nerve damage. They could go away tomorrow. Or the nerves will continue to degenerate and eventually I'll lose use of my arm.'

'Right – nothing much.'

Sam lifts his gaze to Gene's. He's waiting for Gene to make some smart-arsed remark about him becoming the one-armed wonder, but the diatribe goes unspoken. 'Keep stirring that. You're doing remarkably well.'

'That's me, alright. I can stir a pot of bolognese like the best.'

'I want to go back to work.' He hadn't wanted it to come out in a rush, only, there it has. He'd prepared this all so carefully, but it's all just falling apart. Because, maybe he's found his place in this world, maybe he chose what he did and he's come back for good. But if he doesn't have his job, he doesn't have anything – that hasn't changed.

Gene pauses. Blinks. Nods his head. 'So you will.'

'Guv – '

'Just, not right yet.'

Sam grinds his jaw in frustration. 'How much longer?'

'Don't know, do I? Not one of your doctors.'

'No, but you're my superior officer, and if you told them – '

Gene huffs. Moves the sauce pan off the heat, sets the mixing spoon down on a cloth. Sam takes a step back, only then noticing that the tremors had faded. He lifts up his hand and Gene reaches to take hold of it – and Sam does let him, doesn't even flinch. 'Not well yet, are you?'

'But you said – '

'I say a lot of things, Sam.'

'Isn't that the bloody truth – '

'You're not ready yet, that's all – someone goes and makes a mockery of you for your injury…' Gene trails off, frowning. He's holding onto Sam's hand incredibly gently, as though he's too afraid to cause some extra injury himself.

'Do you like me?'

Gene blinks twice. 'What?'

'Do you like me?'

'What're you on about, Tyler?'

'When I was…' Gene frowns, like he knows what Sam's about to say. 'When I was dying, in the dark, I… I kept thinking of you, is all. If you liked me, or not. And if you liked me… well, wouldn't you have kissed me already?'

Gene sighs. Sam straightens his shoulders, lifts his head. 'What?'

'Don't add two and two and get five,' Gene says.

'Right, well – '

'But I do.' And he kisses Sam, very gently, just a brush of lips on lips.


End file.
